Waking Up
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: Sequal to 'Human' but is standalone. Dean wakes up 10 years after defeating Lucifer, with a formerly-angelic life partner, an estranged brother and the news that he won the apocalypse...he just can't remember any of it. Angst and Fluff in equal measure.
1. Chapter 1

_Some fluffy pointlessness and some angst thrown in to make it really clash. The reference to Poison's 'Talk Dirty to Me' that occurs later on is due to the episode of scrubs where Carla and Ted sing it in a choirish way – blame that for the sweetness overload that occurs. _

_This is also a kind of spiritual successor to 'Human' in that the events of Castiel's fall are the same as described in that fic. You don't have to read it, and if you did and you hate this just pretend they aren't related._

Dean wakes up in a bed that isn't his own. Not that unusual, he hasn't owned a bed since just after his mom died. The reason it sends him scrabbling for some kind of weapon is that the bed he wakes up in isn't the one he passed out on. It's not even in a motel, it's in a house, which, after a few seconds of whipping his head round, looks familiar. It's Bobby's house.

Mentally his alert level slips a notch. It can't be that bad if he's at Bobby's. A few memories surface, being trapped in Bobby's nightmare house, Sam's possession, the zombies...alarm bells start off again. It could defiantly be bad.

Taking a step away from the bed his foot catches in a wire, bringing a laptop crashing from the bedside table. Wincing at the noise it takes him a moment to place what's weird about the scenario. Laptop. Since when did Bobby own a laptop, or even if he did, when would he ever let Dean borrow it? It certainly wasn't Sam's who, after one too many porn-borne virus's had withdrawn it from use.

On closer inspection the room was off too. Not the usual jumble of Bobby's home, it was messy, sure, but Dean recognised the mess as his own. His weapons, his brands of soap all over the wash stand, issues of Busty Asian Beauties poking out from under the bed.

It was his room, not a room he was crashing in, a room he inhabited.

"...the hell...?"

The door inched open, lancing light from the bare bulb in the hall right across the room.

"Dean?"

"Yeah...uh...Cas?" He squints against the glare, making out the angel's shape and taking in the distinctive voice, blurred by sleep, which unnerves him. Angel's don't sleep. In no way should they sound sleepy and mildly irritated. They also didn't use doors in his experience.

"Cas what am I doing here?"

There's a short silence.

"Are you drunk or just existential, 'cause either way it's still two in the morning."

"No, I mean a second ago I was asleep somewhere else, then I woke up here."

Another silence, slightly tenser this time.

"Where were you?" the shadow by the door takes a step into the room, stops and then hangs back. Castiel being cautious is the weirdest part of the whole mess in Dean's opinion.

"Uh...Route 46 stop...Clifton something, I don't know, man, now I'm here...is this Bobby's?"

The light snaps on, it takes a second for him to adjust. When he does his eyes find and fix on Castiel, leaning against the door jam in sweatpants, not a suit. His hair's sticking up at odd angles and an entirely new beard is shadowing his face.

He looks ten years older than the Castiel Dean spoke to three hours ago, and he's human.

"Fuck" Dean's mouth and brain agree in unison.

"So you're telling me that Lucifer, that whole deal, was ten years ago?"

"Yes."

Castiel is sitting across from him, watching him intently. It would be comforting, if anything about Cas was ever comforting, in that he looks exactly like the Castiel he's familiar with. But every few seconds his eyes tick away from the blue ones boring into his and catch on all that's wrong with the picture. Cas in sweats for one, shirtless for another and with the anti-possession glyph tattooed over a nest of scars on his hip.

The last time he saw Castiel it was from the ground of an alley because the sonofabitch had just given him the beating of his life. Or at least one of the top 5 ass kicking's he could actually remember. He'd been pissed as all hell, scaring him for the first time in a long while, so now seeing him all...casual, was freaking him out. And he was human, what was up with that? Dean found it gratifying in some corner of his mind. The icy, unfathomable Castiel finally losing his edge and falling in with the humans.

"As far as I can tell you went out on a hunt, you'd just got back when I was turning in." He fixes Dean with one of his meaningful but ultimately unreadable stares. "You were hurt, when I got back from putting the car away you'd gone to bed."

Dean returns the stare blankly.

Castiel sighed.

"This is getting us nowhere."

Dean huffed agreement, still too weirded out to talk.

"It's probably the head injury." Castiel indicated the bandage that covered the wound just above Dean's temple. His face assumes another, equally unreadable expression, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"You slamming me for trying to contact Michael." The venom in his voice surprises him. _Must be more pissed at him than I thought._

Castiel blinks.

"This wasn't you as well was it?" he jerks a thumb at his own head.

"No" Castiel sounds offended which just pisses him off more.

"No, not now you're all powerless. How did that happen by the way?"

His own words hang in the air for a second, making him uncomfortable. He hates Castiel for hurting him, for preventing him from contacting the other angels, but he doesn't really want to attack him. The silence lasts for a good long while, Cas's eyes fixed on the duvet that stretches between them.

"I chose it" He states quietly, finally.

Dean's about to say something, exactly what he doesn't know, but Cas just gets up and motions to the door.

"I need to make a call" He disappears, the normal everyday way, and Dean is left in the unfamiliar room. Alone.

Eavesdropping is not something he's ever had a problem with. Spying on Sam to keep him in check, on his Dad to gauge the full extent of a crisis and hell, sometimes even during actual cases. Dean is good at listening in. It occurs to him as he lingers in the hallway just outside what used to be Bobby's living room, that he's never had to spy on Castiel before.

"...No, nothing." Come the tail end of Castiel's weary voice. "Sam, he had no idea Lucifer was caged, that Bobby's dead...the last ten years is just gone." A pause during which the person on the phone, Sam, presumably speaks. Castiel sighs.

"I know, when, if, he remembers, he'll be extremely annoyed that I even spoke to you...but he needs you here, Dean, this Dean, still wants you here." Another pause. "He doesn't remember my fall Sam, he thinks I'm still..." A bitter laugh in response to Sam's interruption. "Exactly, though I would not have phrased it like that." Another pause. "I think he actually hates me."

Dean feels a small twist of guilt. He lives with Castiel, they're clearly friends and if what he's heard is true, he doesn't speak to Sam much, if at all, these days. That hurts somewhere he thought was deadened to the disappointments he feels about Sam. If it is true, if what he's experiencing isn't a really _really _weird dream. Then Castiel is the closest thing he has to family, and right now he thinks Dean hates him.

He's not paying attention to the voice downstairs so Castiel's sudden presence next to him on the landing is a shock. A quick glance at him reassures Dean that he has no idea he was listening in.

"Probably not a good idea to go back to sleep, you might wake up thinking you're still twenty-five." He looks collected enough, shaking off the tiredness he's shown so far. "Coffee?" Dean nods and follows him downstairs. After a couple of minutes Castiel returns from the darkened kitchen with two cups of coffee.

Now that they're under the lights in the living room Dean notices a large hand shaped bruise on Castiel's arm. Thanks to a lifetime of experience he can tell it's fresh. Uncertainly he looks at his own hand.

"Did I do that?"

Castiel sighs and slides a mug over towards him.

"I think I had it coming." There's no defensiveness there, he's not hiding anything or sparing Dean's feelings.

"Really." Dean almost adds, _I find that hard to believe_. Because he does, even though Cas beat the hell out of him he can't ever imagine returning the favour, especially now he's human.

"I may have expressed an opinion on the effect of advancing age on your hunting abilities." Cas almost smiles but without humour "you may have disagreed."

"You said I was too old to hunt?" Dean raises an eyebrow, that can't (and obviously didn't) go down well.

"You came back with a head wound tonight." Castiel shrugs, plucks a dark jacket Dean doesn't recognise off the end of the couch. Locates a flask in the pocket, pours a generous amount into his coffee. "Last time it was a broken wrist, before that a bullet wound...couple of burns too."

"You told me to quit." Castiel looks at him sharply, piercing eyes narrowed.

"I told you I wanted to help." He gulps coffee.

"I wouldn't let you." Not a question. A statement. Castiel clearly gets the distinction, he nods.

"But you're..." he falters, Cas is what exactly? Not an angel, not anymore. He's not strong or powerful enough to take on demons. He's smart, ok, but not a hunter.

"Yeah" Castiel rolls his eyes pointedly. "The last time I went on a hunt, the last time you let me go, I got mauled by demons." He indicates the mass of scars beneath the warding sigils on his hip. "I was laid up for a while, I'm still not a hundred percent but..."

"But you want to help." He nods his understanding, reminded of himself begging Dad for details of his latest hunt. Caught up in the importance of it, worrying the whole time if he was ever coming home.

"There isn't anybody else" He says, simply, then frowns. Clearly he didn't mean for the conversation to get this far. He'd just meant to explain the bruise away and leave it at that. Dean quickly changes the subject.

"So...not that I'm complaining or anything but...how'd this happen?"

"The head injury..."

"No. This, roommate-of-the-freaking-lord deal." To his surprise Castiel smiles. Not the half imagined mouth twitch of Castiel the angel, or the unfocused, naive grin of his post-apocalypse self. It's an actual, normal 'ha! Good one' smile.

It's weird but in a good way, and for a second Dean's almost happy. Talking to a normal person and making jokes, watching them smile. He hasn't done that in weeks, months. It's all quips and jibes and the end of the world.

Then he remembers that it's Castiel and it's weird all over again. A question occurs to him, one he really _really_ doesn't want to ask. But does.

"Why do you like me?"

It's instantly too girly so he quickly adds, "I mean you don't really seem to...you didn't seem to like anyone."

"Angel's don't like." Castiel still seems amused by this welcome distraction.

"So how..."

"I became human just before the confrontation with Lucifer. You were very helpful, when it happened. It wasn't the easiest thing to go through...after that I was restored, more than that I..." he struggles to equate it to human terms, "I was promoted."

"And you still chose to come back?" he exhales sharply "dude, seriously, I can't imagine myself, uh...me... letting that happen." Castiel looks confused, an expression so familiar it makes Dean want to laugh. "I was kinda warned that you and humanity led to..."

"Drug fuelled orgies and eventual execution?" he looks intently at the carpet as he speaks, purposefully avoiding Dean's eye. "You told me, after I returned. I was...surprised."

"Shocked the hell out of me too, not that the rest of the world was doing so great." He finally manages to catch Cas's eye. "I never told anyone. Not even Sam."

"For which I am still profoundly grateful. Besides, now it's just another thing that never happened." His voice is light but Dean can detect the feeling in it. Shame, sadness and a kind of fear.

"I saw it though." He says quietly. "It doesn't matter that it won't happen. It already did." He's surprised at the pain that causes him, every time he thinks about it. Sam as the devil. Himself as a torturing general with even less humanity than Castiel had show when they'd first met. It was Castiel that made him hurt the most. He'd just seemed so reduced, weeded down to a broken soldier. Dean hadn't even seen him die, just known that he'd gone to his death, still high and knowing that Dean had sent him there. Worse still, the drugs, the alcohol, the sex. It was all him. The Dean Winchester coping strategy.

Something about that seemed weirdly familiar.

He's just catching at the slight wave of déjà vu that accompanies that thought when something else happens. Castiel yawns and then stretches convulsively like a cat. The already loose sweats slip lower as he lengthens out, reaching up. Dean's eyes fall first to the tattoo, and then lower, across the sharp hipbones to the soft line of hair that stands out on his sun starved skin.

The slight feeling of familiarity intensifies until he can remember this. Not _seeing_ this but _thinking_ about it. He remembers _remembering_ watching this. Imagining Castiel without even the sagging sweats as cover.

And fuck if that isn't more disturbing than everything that's happened to him so far.

_Ten Years Ago..._

_He still can't believe this is allowed. _

_That he has a steady job and an address for the first time in years is unprecedented. That his plans for the future don't revolve around insane sentences like 'If we don't kill the Devil..." or "I'm going to find God." is purely awesome, and best of all? He doesn't come home to a room that's either empty or occupied by his brother. He never brings women back to the bed that isn't his anyway, never wakes up alone or knowing he has to leave last night's partner within the next hour. _

_It's not that they're a couple. Dean would probably go to hell, again, sooner than he'd think of Cas as his partner. Worse yet as a boyfriend. They live together, ok, but it's not like he's never lived with men before. His Dad, Sam, Bobby, hell he spent a few awkward nights in the same room as Ash once. _

_This is different, but not by much. There's the sex, obviously, the fact that through some miracle of their fucked up universe he's even allowed to touch something like Castiel. That still gets him. Even though it's been months since he got his memory back. Even though he's woken up wrapped around Cas's naked self to many times to keep track. Even after all the times he's watched the older man strip off and lie on the bed, looking up at him. He still can't quite believe that the world let this happen, or that Castiel even wants it to. _

_As he rolls over in the greyish light, feeling the chill of the under heated apartment, Castiel shifts on his own side of the bed. There are still a lot of things Dean finds it weird to watch Cas do, sleep is one of them. Of course it's followed by practically anything that isn't fighting angels, staring intently at nothing and throwing Dean around like a rag doll, but it's still an event in itself. _

"_Dean" without opening his eyes the ex-angel mutters. "Stop it." _

"_I'm just watching you." He slides an arm around him underneath the tangle of blankets. His fingers brushing over his spine and down to his hip. Blue eyes flick open lazily, eyebrows rising. _

"_I find it unnerving." _

"_Still not stopping."_

"Dean?"

He shakes of the memory to find Castiel watching him, frowning.

"I think I remembered something." The light that comes on in the other mans eyes makes him feel irrationally happy. Or it would if he wasn't so freaked out. Of all the things to remember why did it have to be proof that he was gay? Gay and probably married to Castiel by now.

"Really? What?"

"We lived somewhere, before this. An apartment."

"Yes."

"And we're..." He makes an awkward gesture to indicate the both of them. "We're a...we..."

Castiel blinks.

"Are a couple. Yes."

Castiel looks both amused and tense with the expectation of anger.

"Since..."

"Since before Lucifer was defeated."

"Wow" He huffs out air and rubs a hand over his face. "I have no response to that."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Castiel assures him, sinking back against the couch cushions.

"Why?" Dean's head snaps up.

"I thought you might react badly. There didn't seem any point if we assume the memory loss is temporary."

"And if it isn't?" Castiel give him a long, strange look.

"Then there would still be no reason to tell you."

"Jesus Christ!" He surprises them both by yelling. "You...you're telling me if I hadn't remembered that, you'd have just let it go? Ten years and then just, nothing?"

"I wouldn't want to coerce you." Castiel's voice has developed a slight edge, clearly he isn't enjoying this.

"How did it happen?"

"Dean..."

"I want to know, Christ! This is..." he forces himself to be calm. "I need to know this, it's my life Cas and this seems like a pretty huge part of it."

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. Dean prepares himself for the refusal, internally he grudgingly lets it drop.

"After I fell they found me on a shrimping boat. When I eventually regained consciousness I was transferred to a mental facility... they thought I was disturbed for believing in Lucifer. You came to get me..."

As he tells the story, filling in the rest of the apocalypse around it, Dean can't feel a twinge of recognition. It pisses him off, here it is, his life story of the past decade, and it triggers less than Cas's momentary stretch.

He can tell Castiel is glossing over some of it. He sees the tension in him as he describes his ascent back to heaven. His capture and torture at the hands of Sam. He gauges Dean's reaction, carefully dilutes the details, but Dean can guess enough.

"When Bobby died he left you the house. You'd already been hunting again, it seemed easier to do so from somewhere already equipped and... obviously you felt it was the right thing to do...that's it." He looks at Dean, the first time he's done so since he started speaking. "That's the last ten years."

Dean can't think of anything to say.

"Dean?" Castiel looks concerned. "I'm sorry for...I have no idea what I'm sorry for." He smiles wryly "You're still dealing with the end of the world and I'm dragging out the photo albums."

"We have photo albums?" Castiel almost wants to laugh at the appalled look on his face.

"Not actual...maybe one." He admits "It was gift from Becky, last Christmas."

"Becky?"

"Married to Chuck." A lazy smile graces Castiel's face. "They're surprisingly tolerable."

"Sweet" Dean smirks.

"They think so."

"So, can I see it? The album, not Chuck and Becky." Castiel gets up and opens an overflowing cabinet in the corner of the room. After a few minutes of routing around he almost, but not quite, _growls_ in frustration and pulls something out of his pocket. Snapping open the small case he shoves a pair of rectangular glasses onto his nose and goes back to searching. Eventually he sits back down, passing Dean a black leather bound folio.

Flicking it open Dean begins to scan the pictures, unnerved by Castiel's gaze. After a few seconds he attempts to distract him.

"It's weird seeing you with glasses."

"I've had them a while."

"I can see that." Dean looks down at a picture presumably taken on the day the album was presented. It shows Becky smiling widely next to bashful looking Chuck, both sitting on the same sofa he's currently on. But his attention is caught on the Dean in the picture, looking older than he remembers himself, smiling, one arm slung around Castiel. A Castiel wearing the same modern glasses and a black T-shirt. Castiel is the only one not grinning at the camera, he's relaxed into Dean's hold, smiling slightly to himself.

As much as Dean hates to think it – Castiel, angel of the lord, looks adorable.

He looks through the rest of the album, forgetting that Castiel is watching him. There are pictures from the rest of Christmas, from what looks like the day they moved in (Castiel is struggling with a large box and looking unimpressed with the photographer – presumably Becky.) There are a few more he's willing to bet are not Becky's pictures, just ones she managed to get hold of. One of Castiel lying on a couch looking half asleep, smiling at the person behind the camera.

It makes him a little uncomfortable, seeing these pictures, so unlike anything he's had before. The insufferable cuteness of it almost makes him want to comment, raise an eyebrow about what he's become. But he can't because, looking at Cas in the picture, on the couch. He knows that he'd take that picture, given the chance. He looks small and human and...beautiful, stupid word that it is.

He's never thought of Castiel like that before.

The last picture is a recent one. Recent from his own point of view, in that he recognises himself from the memories he actually has. Him and Cas by the impala, Castiel's hands thrown up in annoyance, Dean's own eyebrows raised and arms folded. They're arguing, but they still look right together.

"Sam took it." Castiel's looking at the picture, not at him. "The day we got back from the hospital."

Three days after they started sleeping together. Three days and they already look like a couple.

"We look happy." Castiel snorts laughter unexpectedly.

"If I remember correctly I'd just snapped after six hours of 'rock appreciation' and you were yelling at me for kicking the door closed."

Dean smiles.

"Never hurt the car."

"Lesson learned." Castiel replies sagely. "Also never insult your taste in music, pie, movies or women." He corrects himself. "Not that there has been an opportunity for the latter." Dean thinks he can see the beginning of an honest to God smirk.

It's hard to believe that the last thing he remembers is Castiel beating him up. Though clearly he remembers more, somewhere he can't access. If all this other stuff hadn't happened there's no way he could have gone from thinking Cas was a righteous asshole of an angelic bastard to thinking '_at least I have good taste in men'_. It's been about two hours, nothing short of a miracle could change Dean Winchester's mind about something in two hours.

Speaking of his stubbornness.

"The fight we had..." he begins carefully. Castiel's easy smile fades instantly, leaving him hollowed eyed with worry. Dean finds himself comparing it to Sam's many tortured looks. No contest, Castiel's wins hands down. "I hurt you Cas, that's not just a fight, that's...more than a fight." He finishes lamely.

"I told you, I wanted to help you. Watching you get hurt is...difficult, especially when I used to be of use to you."

"And I hurt you for that?"

"No" His voice is harsh and insistent, Dean remembers it from the arguments they've had about the angel's plans. Castiel really doesn't want him to know.

"I might remember..."

"Then you'll remember, I won't have to tell you."

"Cas..."

"No."

"You're saying..." his voice falters. He knows this. Castiel on his feet, about to stalk away, his own voice – _'You're saying...'_

"_You're saying it's better if you go out and get hurt? I can't handle that Cas, not again. Not after last time."_

"_I'm saying I've been shot, stabbed, tortured and I am still trying to help you. So let me."_

"_That's supposed to make me feel better? You've done enough for me, with the apocalypse...I want you to be safe."_

"_And I don't want to watch you kill yourself. That's what you're doing, any more nights like tonight and you might not make it back."_

"_One hit to the head? Seriously, I've had worse Cas...you gave me worse, remember?" _

"_If you'd been knocked unconscious they'd have killed you. You need someone else there."_

"_You're worrying about nothing." _

"_I'm worrying about you, Dean." _

_A sudden jolt as he sees, sees Castiel. The same one sitting with him now, only standing, looking at him with fierce, angry, worried eyes. He can see the tension in him. Dean feels a rush of sympathy, he knows what it's like, loving someone who never stops, never gives a moments thought for themselves as they sacrifice themselves for everyone else. _

_He's turned into his father. _

"_If you're going to keep doing this." Castiel isn't angry anymore, he just looks tired. "Do it without me, ok? We're done." _

"_Cas..."_

"_We're done, Dean." _

"I grabbed you" He says, the memory slotting neatly into place. "I grabbed you, you pushed me away. I went to bed upstairs...in the back room. You went..."

"I went to put the car away. You left it when you came in."

"You went to our room."

"Yes."

"So you heard me knock the laptop down, heard me moving around and you just got up to see what was wrong?" He can't imagine someone doing that for him. "We were fighting."

"I was worried."

"You're always worried." He replies without thinking. Castiel blinks, surprised, then recovers.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs, gaze flicking contemplatively to the ground.

"You don't have to apologise for..."

"I told you I was going to leave." He looks Dean firmly in the eye. "I wasn't going to leave and I shouldn't have said it."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen."

"You don't remember..."

"Yeah, and why is that?" Dean smiles bitterly "You were worried about me dying but I just lost the last ten years Cas, that's worse."

"It really isn't"

He doesn't have a response to that either.

A loud hammering breaks the silence.

"That would be Sam." Castiel gets up, notices for the first time that he's shirtless and grabs a grey hooded sweater from the back of the couch. "I'll let him in."

Across the room a phone rings.

"Damn it" He sighs "Can you get the door, I have to... impersonate an FBI official."

"Hope you do a better job than last time" he quips on the way to the door, realising too late that it's only 'last time' to him.

"The angels just gave you back?"

It's the weirdest conversation he can remember, and that means it outranks the evening so far. Sam, looking a lot more grizzled than he remembers, is drinking coffee across from him, explaining how he returned from angelic prison.

"They realised I had no idea how I was back, and that it hadn't changed me that much. That I wasn't evil." He cautiously looks Dean in the eye. "took a little longer to convince you."

"You tortured Cas."

"I can never take that back, I know. I wish I'd never asked you..."

"Asked me what?"

Too late Sam notices Castiel's _not now_ gesture.

"I asked you to... uh...well I knew you could get him to talk, so..."

"You've got to be freaking kidding me!"

"Dean..." Castiel jumps up at the same time as he does, stepping between him and Sam.

"You're just going to sit here with him after he did that? You let him in the house, you made him coffee...how can you forgive that?"

"Dean" and for a second he's the stern angel Dean remembers. He sits back down, letting Castiel sit beside him.

"I'm sorry for intruding." Sam seems genuinely aggrieved "It's just when Cas...tiel " he corrects the over familiar nickname quickly, flicking a nervous look at Dean. "called me I thought you were going to freak out, you know about..." he uses the same inelegant gesture as Dean to indicate 'coupledom'. "I thought you'd...need me, or something." His eye brows twitch in a regretful grimace. "guess not." He gets to his feet, nods towards Castiel in thanks. "So, I'll get out of your..."

"Stay." Dean surprises himself. "It's...well now it's just really early, but if you've been driving all night...stay." Sam looks to Castiel for permission.

"You should stay." He winces "I don't think any of the guest rooms have been opened since Bobby..."

"He can have my room...the one I woke up in? Seemed pretty clean, messy though." He smirks at Castiel to break off the feeling that something monumental just happened. "you should clean more."

"You clean I cook, that was the deal." The other man shoots back, dead pan.

"Yeah well, you burn the meatloaf; I can skip a few..." He blinks. "You burn meatloaf."

"Apparently." mutters Sam, "you remember?"

"No, I just said it, and I knew."

"If we have to wait for you to mock me every time you want a memory back..." Castiel thinks for a second. "Actually that'd do it pretty quickly." He yawns sharply.

"And on that, bed." Dean gets up and beckons at Sam "I'll show you where it is." He leads Sam upstairs, shows him the room he woke up in hours ago. It occurs to him that if he remembers the things in there they have to be years old by now. It's the room his pre-apocalypse self might have inhabited.

Once he closes the door on Sam he pauses, aware that he's given away his own bed and now has nowhere to sleep. His awkward pause is broken by a sudden blast of AC/DC and some fairly un-angelic cursing. A couple of rooms away he see's light under the door and opens it. Inside Castiel is holding an alarm clock that's playing 'Back in Black' at top volume. He locates the off switch and jerks it triumphantly, setting the clock down and catching sight of Dean.

"I take it that's mine." He says finally, indicating the alarm clock.

"Just in case I didn't get enough of your five albums during the day." The ex-angel says drily.

"Wow you really hate my music."

"And you hate me singing in the shower..."

"You sing in the shower?" Dean repeats incredulously. Castiel grimaces.

"Not well, last time you yelled at me through the door, something like, 'Stop murdering poison, you sound like a damn choir boy.'"

"You sing _poison_ in the shower?"

"Like a choir boy apparently, not that I can picture one singing 'Talk Dirty to Me' ."

"Please let that not be a joke."

Then he realises that he's smiling, and Cas is smiling back and they're standing in a bedroom they share...and it feels like the most normal thing in the world. Castiel seems to notice his sudden change in mood.

"So...you gave Sam you're room, if you want to take the bed, I can sleep downstairs." He watches him carefully.

"Cas it's your bed..."

"Technically..."

And he knows it's intended to make him ok with taking the bed, that Cas really just wants him to be comfortable. The self sacrificing idiot. But he still can't help but take it in the way his brain is telling him he shouldn't.

"Great, which side am I on?"

Castiel meets his look questioningly, but doesn't comment.

"The left."

Dean tugs back the dark blue duvet and slides underneath, turning his head against the pillow to get comfortable. Castiel stands frozen for a second, then turns off the light and feels his way to his side of the bed. Dean feels the mattress dip, the lighter man settling down. Minutes pass and his awareness of Castiel doesn't diminish. A slow infusion of warmth creeps across the bed, filling the carefully maintained space between them. Dean closes his eyes but he can hear Castiel breathing in the dark, feel every movement he makes beneath the sheets.

"It was good of you to let Sam stay." His voice comes out of the dark, alarmingly close.

"I guess." He can't really pinpoint his reasons for doing it, only that Sam still has power over him, he's still his brother, even after everything. Silence stretches out and he thinks Castiel has fallen asleep, then he speaks again.

"If you're uncomfortable I can still leave." He says gently.

"I'm fine..."

"You're staying still, really really still, usually you've taken over the bed by now."

"_You're cold." Dean whines, feeling a chill arm snake across his waist. _

"_I've been outside."_

"_Yeah, got that." He mumbles sleepily, trying and failing to secure the pillow with his arm. _

"_Dean."_

"_What..." _

"_You're all over the bed again." _

_He drags his heavy limbs inwards, creating enough space for Castiel to lie down behind him. _

"_You good?"_

"_Very." _

Castiel jumps a little when Dean's arm slides over his waist. He feels the body next to his move across the bed, settling when his chest is pressed against Castiel's back.

"This ok?" Dean's voice mutters against his ear. Castiel wraps a hand over the one on his abdomen in response.

"Good" comes Dean's sleepy response. "and thank you...for tonight."

"You're welcome."

He wakes up in a bed that isn't his own, at least, not one he remembers owning. There's a warm weight against him, a forehead pressed against his shoulder and a hand stroking at his side.

Which doesn't suck, in the hierarchy of things to wake up to.

He moves a little, just enough to ascertain that he's definitely reacting to the presence of a warm body. A body which fidgets and makes a sound he identifies as worryingly male. The thought flicks across his brain, '_It's just Cas_'. Which raises a few more interesting questions, before he remembers the events of the previous night.

So, yeah, it's fair to say it makes his top ten of mornings to remember.

Castiel makes a gruff, unimpressed sound that sends warm breath skating down Dean's chest. Twitching awake the other man presses closer, face still buried just below his collar bone. The hand that was lazily stroking his side moves around, heads south without warning, and slides into an altogether different rhythm.

Definitely top five then.

He's just relaxed into the feel of Castiel's hand moving over him, in a way that suggests a lot of prior experience and is proving quite effective...when Castiel wakes up properly. All of a sudden Dean's left, cold, achingly hard, and alone, because Castiel has pulled right back to the other side of the bed.

"Shit! Sorry." His hair's ruffled into peaks and his eyes are huge with awkwardness and shock. If he wasn't so utterly focused on the tension still evident under the disturbed sheets, Dean might even find it funny.

"It's fine Cas" he says instead, still breathing heavily, trying desperately to subdue himself, but not even thoughts of _Ash_ are having the desired effect.

"No I..." he moves forwards just as Dean does, bringing them almost as close as they were a few seconds ago. "Sorry" he says again, lamely.

And then Dean does the unthinkable.

Or at least, to him it's unthinkable, to Castiel it's the norm – Dean's mouth on his, bodies pressed together in the room they share. `And then Castiel's hand returns to its prior location, earning a happy moan from Dean, and then...

"Cas, Dean isn't downstairs, have you...God, sorry!" Sam's head appears around the door and is withdrawn just as quickly.

Dean and Castiel remain frozen.

"Great, reunite with Sam, scar him for life." Dean smirks.

"He'll be fine." Castiel is halfway to the door, presumably having remembered that he needs to make Sam breakfast or some Betty Crocker shit like that. He's getting the distinct impression that Castiel is the wife of this relationship, which isn't entirely unpleasant. He almost misses the tail end of Castiel's sentence as the door closes. "...it's not like it hasn't happened before."

And that's how that morning reached the top of his 'weirdest starts to the day, ever' list. Right above 'woke up in a coffin having been saved from hell' and 'woke up to an angel asking about my subconscious fantasies.' Neither of which came close.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean learns a few things during that first morning (well, technically it's evening because the whole amnesia crisis has pitched everyone's sleep schedules out of whack.) one of which is that whilst Castiel can, and does, make good coffee, he pretty much sucks at making anything else. With the exception of a half apple pie in the refrigerator (which Dean is still frankly in awe of, he'd probably almost-gay-marry Cas again just for that pie) everything else in the house is canned or frozen, or burnt beyond recognition.

The second thing is that, whilst he and Sam have apparently been estranged for years, nothing covers that kind of awkwardness like the awkwardness of catching your brother making out with a former angel of the lord. So whilst conversation over breakfast/dinner is strained, it isn't mutinously conflicted either. Sam even tells him about his hunts over the past few years, which sort of makes Dean wish he could reciprocate with his own stories. Or at least a story that doesn't end, 'and then I went to sleep and lost my memory' which is the only one he knows.

Throughout the meal and the conversation it tails into, Dean is sat next to Castiel, and although he's talking to Sam he's still very aware of the other man's presence. It's not an intrusion, just a sense of barely there comfort. Even though Castiel is smaller, clothed in baggy grey sweats and a T-shirt, hair sticking up all over – he exudes peace, more so than when he was an angel. He catches Dean's gaze with a questioning look, Dean shakes his head, _it's not important_. Castiel goes back to his coffee with an almost unreadable smile.

Sam coughs nervously.

"So, I...uh, I guess I should go." Castiel says nothing, but Dean feels the light press of his knee against his own.

"Stay" the words jumps from him as if passed by touch. "I mean, I thought we could...I don't know, do guy stuff" he finishes lamely. "What with Cas being such a girl and all." Which earns him an unimpressed mock glare from the girl in question. But it gets him some time with Sam, wandering amongst the wrecked cars of Bobby's lot.

"You should stick around, not here, if you don't want but...you know, we should hunt sometime."

Sam looks at him, honestly looks him in the eye and Dean is reminded that this is an older, wiser version of his kid brother.

"This is to do with you and Castiel, isn't it?" he asks cautiously.

"No, I miss you man, and you're a good hunter, maybe even better than...ok, it's a Cas thing." He relents under Sam's stare. "He's...worried...about me. God that's still weird" He smirks "Castiel is worried about me." Shakes his head disbelievingly, then turns serious. "You being around...well, can't say I never managed to get myself in trouble even with you around, but..."

"That was a long time ago" Sam says slowly, carefully. "I did things, and you didn't want me around. You don't want me around, not really. I mean, you'll change your mind when you get your memories back."

"Well right now I want you here." He injects as much warmth into the words as he can, to balance what he's about to say. "And you owe him, Cas I mean." Sam winces.

"I know"

"So...you'll think about it?" Sam can see a little of his puppy like enthusiasm for his work returning (not that he'd ever say that to Dean's face, he likes his masculinity when it isn't regularly questioned, thank you very much) but he can almost see Dean, Dean of years and years ago, face serious but light.

"_Saving People, Hunting things. The family business."_

When it was that simple.

And maybe it could be, almost, again.

"Castiel has my number...give me a call, anytime."

They part, shaking hands next to Sam's car (which is hideous, and almost makes Dean ruin their reconciliation with a violent outburst on behalf of the Impala) It's a strained peace, but it's there. Maybe they can work on it. It's weird that now it's him and Cas, with Sam given the role of occasional visitor. But it could work, given the chance.

Castiel is waiting, still in the kitchen, when he returns. It looks like he hasn't moved, but the dishes are done and he's reading one of Bobby's old books. He waits for Dean to speak.

"Sam might be coming by soon." He lets that sink in. "I asked him for help, with any cases that come up." Castiel's eyes light with understanding, a mild crease forming between them. Swallowing his nerves, Dean skirts the table and wraps his arms around the seated man from behind. Castiel's hands fall from the table, running over his arms, a pleasantly surprised sound tumbling from his lips.

"You didn't have to do that." He mutters, leaning back against him. "but I'm glad you did."

"Well now you don't have to worry." He presses a quick kiss to his shoulder, then claps his hand on the other and straightens up. "You can use all that new free time to learn how to cook."

The third thing he learns is that Castiel can throw books both quite far and very hard.

It's a day of mixed discoveries.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean finds the DVD a week into his new amnesia.

He's been left to his own devices, Castiel's researching something to do with mind altering magic and he finds himself at a loose end.

Going through his movies (and they are his, there's nothing to indicate Castiel has any taste in movies to speak of) he finds a white case with 'X-mas 2011' on it. He excuses himself from the living room and secludes himself upstairs. Every time Castiel catches him trying to jolt his memory he gets this look, equal parts pained and hopeful, which breaks Dean's heart. So he shuts their bedroom door and puts the DVD into the machine.

And yes, it is 'their bedroom' not that they've done more than sleep there since that first morning. Castiel's conscious that Dean doesn't remember him and is trying not to pressure him. Basically he's being so understanding it's starting t chafe Dean's ego – he knows what he wants, and he can take seeing Castiel naked. It's not like he's never had sex before.

The screen flickers static, then becomes solidly blue. A picture flashes up as the DVD begins to play, a home recording of Christmas Day. Dean hears his own voice from behind the camera.

"C'mon Cas..." he wheedles at Castiel, standing with crossed arms by a ravaged looking tree. "smile pretty for the camera."

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

"Beautiful." Dean mutter's sarcastically.

Castiel starts to say something but a wave of black cuts the image off, replacing it with another.

The TV shows a mirror image of the room he's in, the bed dishevelled and the lights dimmed. He sees himself, lying on the sheets, hands wrapped around Castiel's waist as he arches on top of him, naked back stretching and thighs tensing.

Dean blinks, not grasping it for a second. Then the penny drops.

The only thought he can manage is an entirely inappropriate _Merry Christmas._

How the hell did he talk Castiel into making a sex tape?

The camera is recording a side on view, and his eyes are instantly drawn to the point at which their bodies join. Watching his cock slide in and out of Castiel as the slighter man rises and falls, impaling himself on Dean in a steady rhythm. Castiel's head is thrown back, his hands resting on Dean's sweat slick chest. Every time Cas pushes down, Dean sees his own hips slam upwards, meeting the downward thrust halfway.

The sounds they're making are indescribable. Dean grunting with each upward jerk of his hips, unsteady huffs of pleasure escaping him each time Castiel sinks back down. The former angel almost whimpers every time he tears their bodies apart, pausing for a split second before sinking back down with a raw animal sound.

Castiel's hand leaves Dean's chest, a desperate sound ripping from his throat as Dean grabs it back, millimetre's from Castiel's dick, which even from Dean's point of view, looks painfully hard, leaking already.

"Dean" and hearing Castiel growl his name like that, pleading and warning, shoots a shiver through him like a roll of thunder. "Dean...please..."

The Dean lying on the bed does his best to shake his head, his hips start jerking upwards faster, forcing Castiel to quicken his pace with a low moan. Whimpering every time Dean bottoms out inside of him, he slowly lowers himself, pressing his forehead to Dean's shoulder.

Castiel is pretty fucking bendy when he wants to be. Dean files this away for future reference. With one hand on either side of Dean's head, Castiel thrusts back, hard. Dean groans, feet planted on the bed as he heaves himself upwards, burying himself in Castiel's quivering body.

The only sounds are the quick, sharp meeting of flesh. The huffs of breath leaving Castiel, edged with desperate pleas. Dean stutters out the same sound, which might be the beginning of 'God' but never gets far enough before Castiel shoves down on him again, strangling the sound in his throat.

Dean comes with a quick shout, murmuring 'Cas' as he shudders through it. Castiel sits back, still clenching himself around Dean if his expression is any clue. As the recorded-Dean stills, panting, Dean realises he's pressing the heel of his hand against his own erection.

Castiel is still hard. On screen Dean lifts Castiel from him, softening cock sliding free as Castiel mewls at the loss of pressure. Lying the smaller man down on the bed, Dean slow slides down the length of his body, lazily taking him in hand and lowering his mouth to the tip of Castiel's dick.

If watching himself have sex was strange, watching himself give head is downright disturbing. He watches his own dark head bobbing up and down just on the edge of the shot, muffled moans in his own voice matching the sounds Castiel is making.

Which are...stimulating, to say the least.

He can only describe them as mewls, pleading, gratified sounds of pleasure that strike him hard. He feels a slight dampness against his uncomfortably tight underwear, he's leaking already, watching Castiel come down the other Dean's throat.

He lies still after his orgasm, lowering his hips from there they slammed up against the other man's mouth. Dean makes his way back up the bed, curling his larger body around Castiel's lax form.

"Told you I could make you smile" he mutters, sleepily.

"Mmmnf." Is Castiel's response, face buried in the curve of Dean's neck.

"Thanks for the camera by the way." Dean twines their legs together, bringing Castiel up against his chest.

"Oh...I thought we'd lost that one." Dean jumps guiltily as Castiel speaks behind him. The other man is leaning casually in the doorway, looking vaguely interested in the spectacle on screen.

"I was just..." Dean can' think of anything. "It was Christmas." He settles on, defensively.

"I'm not the best editor" Castiel seems genuinely apologetic. "I understand."

"So..." Dean murmur's, a blush heating his face. Dean Winchester does not blush, damn it! "I guess we get pretty good...at that...?"

"Better, yes." Castiel sits down on the bed. "but then it did take a lot of practice."

Really, with a line like that, Dean can't be blamed for what happens next.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank an episode of Private Practice (what am I doing with my life?) for this update. _

Turns out, the sex issue? Way more complex than he'd originally thought.

Castiel responds to his kiss, to the pull of his hands as Dean urges him closer, feeling Cas's mouth pressing into his own, teeth drawing on Dean's lower lip and sucking in the way that never fails to get him interested.

Which is road block number one – namely, that Castiel knows exactly what Dean wants and Dean has no freaking clue how to reciprocate without alerting Castiel to his ignorance. A couple of seconds of his hands resting nervously on Castiel's shoulders seems to clue him in though,

"Dean?" he leans back a little.

"Mmmm?" Dean hedges.

"Do whatever you want, if I don't like it, I'll let you know." He says gently.

Shyly, Dean presses their mouths together again and Castiel sighs softly as their tongues skate together. Racking up his confidence a little, Dean touches Castiel's throat and chest, fingers finding the strip of flesh between shirt and pants, tracing ribs and soft hair and flesh. It's weird, because Cas is a guy, and used to be (recently in his own mind) an angel. But muscle memory is in his every limb, joint and inch of skin. He knows this, he likes this and he likes how it feels.

Road block number two is slightly more difficult, unfair and humiliating in equal measures.

"Son of a bitch." Dean groans, forehead striking Castiel's shoulder in frustration.

"It's not like it hasn't happened before." Castiel murmurs, hands still stroking Dean's back and an insistent erection still pressed into his leg.

"Not making it better Cas." He sighs and sits back, shaking his head. "I'm old, aren't I?"

"You're in your 40's..." Castiel fingers the comforter on the bed. "I'm in my...well, I've existed since nearly the dawn of...everything."

"And you can still get it up." Dean says through clenched teeth, he rolls his head back and glares at the ceiling. "This is so humiliating."

Castiel drums his fingers on his thigh thoughtfully, then slants his eyes downwards, looking sly.

"Medicine cabinet, top left, inside the dental floss box." He says, softly.

Dean raises his eyebrows.

"You didn't think I knew." Castiel murmurs, smiling a little. Dean weighs up the humiliation of having to resort to the little blue pills against actually getting to have sex.

"Two seconds." He says, darting for the bathroom.

Castiel props himself up on one elbow.

"So...am I keeping any more secrets...or things I think are secrets?" Dean calls back from the bathroom. "Hair plugs, a truss...secret girlfriend?"

Castiel thinks for a minute.

"There's a packet of players behind the heating vent in the impala...you still smoke them when you get mad about Sam." He says after a while. Dean wanders in from the bathroom.

"I smoke?"

"You did, for a while." Castiel shrugs. Dean frowns, then chooses to sidestep the Sam issue.

"How long do these things take to work?"

"About half and hour." Castiel says, lying back down on the bed as Dean comes back towards him, shuffling up the mattress to accommodate the other man. Dean glances down at Cas's still tented pants.

"You want me to..."

Castiel pulls him down gently, kissing him and guiding Dean's body to cover his own. "I can wait." He whispers, moving to suck gently at Dean's collarbone. "What else do you want to know?"

"It can wait." Dean moves an uncertain hand to palm the bulge in Castiel's pants. The other man groans softly and rubs into his palm.

"Fully functioning bastard." Dean whispers teasingly.

"Virgin till I was how old?" Castiel retorts, sucking in Dean's lip and dragging his body down hard, rubbing shamelessly up against him. "Making up for lost time."

Dean makes a fuss of Castiel, rubbing against his body and gradually shucking off his clothing, then his own, biting and sucking his skin until Castiel's leaking against his stomach and whimpering every time the tip brushes a line against Dean's warm stomach.

Dean's having a few issues with his '10 years older than he remembers it being' body. One of those issues is 'the stomach' softer than he remembers, threaded over with brown hair just turning steel coloured around his navel. He's more scarred than he remembers, obviously, from a decade of extra hunts, but despite that activity he's still not as taut as he was, as young. He use to...he shakes himself internally but he can't stop thinking it...he used to be sure of his body, that it could hunt and fight and attract any chick he wanted...and now it's, not exactly ugly, but he's less sure. Less certain of what Castiel sees in him.

When he finally begins to harden against Castiel's thigh, he groans in relief, and then in pleasure when Castiel begins to stroke him gently.

"Lube, top drawer." Castiel mutters, fingers not leaving his length, eyes bright with intent and honed on Dean's rising cock.

After that he stops feeling uncertain.

Exhausted and easing a slight strained muscle in his thigh, Castiel rolls off of Dean who lies, staying at the ceiling.

"That was..." Dean's mouth moves silently for a few seconds. "...just, wow."

Castiel, lying beside him, his chest heaving as he tries to catch up on the last hour, nods emphatically.

"Is it always..." Dean can't finish sentences right now.

A lazy smile curves Castiel's mouth, a true 'cat that got the cream' leer. "We should have recorded it."

Dean just closes his eyes, feeling pleasure and aches he didn't think his body was capable of lulling him to sleep. The sheet over them shifts and then Castiel is looking down on him with concern.

"I didn't...freak you out, did I?" his brow creases with worry. "It wasn't too much?"

Dean's kind of had his first gay experience, being inside of Castiel...and then ten minutes later being held down and filled up. It's not so much a learning curve as a slippery rock wall without hand holds.

Dean can't really express how weirdly normal the whole thing had been, on the surface he was still dumbfounded by the idea that Castiel, Angel of the Lord Castiel, had been inside of him, moving and pushing and growling some truly filthy shit into his ear. But somewhere else, like the way in which his older body no longer surprised him, just made him a little uncomfortable, Dean was sort of used to the idea. Dean tugs him down, spreading his legs and wrapping his arms around Castiel's sweat dampened body.

"No. It was..." He smiles widely and tries to remember the last time he's smiled so openly. "Jesus, it was..."

Castiel seems amused by this.

"Yes it was." He kisses him gently.

Dean rubs a hand tiredly through Castiel's hair.

"I wish I could remember, the first time...every time. I wish I could remember us." Dean sighs, easing his tense back and shifting until he's comfortable. "One knock to the head and I just let it all go? I'm kind of pissed as myself." He grumbles.

"You don't have to remember." Castiel says seriously. "If it's not going to happen I'd rather you not run yourself into the ground trying." He tickles his fingers against Dean's ribs. "I remember where the blue pills are...I'm not going to let what we were disappear." He closes his eyes. "and...you can have Sam, you get to have him back...that's worth it."

"He hurt you."

"And you made me rebel, Sam drank demon blood...I let him out of the panic room."

Dean sucks in an angry breath.

"I already told you." Castiel says softly. "The point it, it was a bad time, for everyone. And now it's over, it can rest."

"I still want to remember." Dean insists.

"Because you're you...you don't give up." Castiel's foot nudges his shin. "That's why I'm still here."


	5. Chapter 5

_Epilogue, because BobbleHeadedJesus reignited my interest in this story, (by reminding me of its existence)and god knows, we could all use a happy ending right now._

Ten years is a long time. That's the one lesson Dean's learnt from all this.

Well, that and – if hunting alone? Walk softly and wear a helmet.

He's almost sixty now, and after ten years, Castiel still won't let him forget about the accident. He hunts with Sam, he checks in, he carries a freaking first aid kit wherever he goes. And if Cas had his way he'd probably carry a flare gun too.

He takes precautions, he does his research and he always (_always_ on pain of enforced chastity and dishwashing duty for a month) shows up at home for Sunday dinner, rain or shine, wendigo's or succubae.

He never leaves anything to chance, always knows exactly what he's aiming for. In many ways he's the best hunter he's ever been.

He has however, lost his glasses.

"Cas...you seen my..." Castiel emerges from the kitchen with the glasses (goddamn bifocals at that) and a handful of pills. "Ugh, not again."

"You have a cholesterol of almost 300." Castiel grouses, handing him the pills and glaring as he waits for Dean to swallow them. "You're basically a solid."

"Why'd you have to get better at cooking?" Dean gripes, picking up his glass of water and swallowing tablets for his blood pressure, cholesterol, back pain and poor circulation. There's probably a laxative in there too, he's lost count of the number of pills he's supposed to be on. Castiel, infuriatingly healthy as a horse thanks to the combination of his and Jimmy's record of clean living, has no such array of supplements.

And no need to pee at ridiculous o'clock at night.

"You told me to learn." Castiel points out, and Dean almost laughs at the thick grey eyebrows on his partners face, raised as they are in the hawkish expression of 'It's all your fault really' that hasn't changed in over a decade. Cas's hair too, is streaked with grey at the temples, his face more lined and his body not as flexible as it once was. He has however avoided the slight paunch that Dean has managed to acquire (and is still quite sensitive about – no thanks to Sam's teasing).

Dean takes the last pill and sets the glass down.

"Thank you Florence." He says, just as he does every morning. Castiel half smiles to himself and goes to find his boots.

"We've got to leave for Sam's in a few minutes." He calls back, and Dean checks his watch, damn, twenty five minutes disappeared on him while he was thinking to himself. He gets up and goes in search of his jacket, passing a hall mirror, he tries to control the start that his reflection causes.

He looks older than his Dad. Scratch that, he looks like his Dad would have looked like, if he'd been around to reach sixty odd years as a hunter. Mild steel grey in his hair and stubble, slight thickening not hiding the muscle on his frame, and a collection of scars and wrinkles to rival the battered leather couch that Castiel is perched on, lacing up his boots. Dean drops down next to him and bats his hands away from the shoes, pressing Castiel into the sagging folds of the aged couch. Cas goes easily enough, groaning indignantly when Dean slides on top of him.

"We, are too old for couch sex." He complains.

"Then shoot me." Dean thrusts a hand under Castiel's shirt, nipping his neck as his fingers circle a nipple. "I don't want to live anymore."

Castiel harrumphs at his partner (husband, Dean corrects, because he's a freaking husband these days) as he often does at Dean's silliness and irreverent attitude to his own advanced years. When push comes to shove though (here read – when pants begin to become undone) he ceases any attempts at making Dean aware of the decrepit state of the couch, and of both of their spines.

Some things surpassed common sense.

Dean Winchester, was one of them.


End file.
